


given time we'd find it strange to be alone

by anacruses



Series: and that's a lot to say without words [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Fake AH Crew, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacruses/pseuds/anacruses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He puts one hand on the back of Ryan’s neck, runs the other up his thigh, kisses him tentatively. He tastes like whiskey and blood and ash, and <i>god</i> Ryan wants more."</p>
            </blockquote>





	given time we'd find it strange to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> this has the same premise as 'we are the last call and we're so pathetic' -- [everyone is allotted 167 spoken words per day.](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/179259) not necessarily in the same, canon, I guess? just based on the same idea.  
> (and on another note this is the dirtiest thing I've ever written oh god. it could be about as sexy as a bandaid floating in a pool and I'd have no idea.)  
> I've been working on this for--months, now, off and on, and I just finally decided to hell with it and cranked out about a thousand words in an hour. and I tried to keep it as non-feelings-y as possible but I am apparently Incapable of That, so there is a bit of angst/fluff towards the end.  
> anyway! I'm done rambling. hope you enjoy it :)

Geoff is the sort of drunk that makes him grin like a madman and cling to Ryan's side like he'd fall off the face of the earth if he didn’t. Ryan is just giddy.

They’re at Ryan’s apartment, waiting for police activity to more or less die down and congratulating themselves on another successful heist; Michael is sprawled across the couch with his feet propped up in Ray’s lap, as Geoff counts out the take from that night, out loud so Jack and Gavin can hear over the mike. It’s been a long, loud night, and Geoff’s voice goes hoarse long before he runs out of words, and he lets Ryan speak for him.

“Almost a hundred thousand,” Ryan says, and Michael lets out a breath. Geoff grins, punches Ryan’s shoulder, and shoots a thumbs up. Ryan even breaks into a grin as he tosses the bag with the money in it to Michael and Ray. “Go meet up with them,” he says, nodding towards the radio on the table. “Get the hell out of my apartment.”

Geoff punches his arm again and waves towards Michael and Ray. He tries signing a couple times, fingers fumbling, then gives up and just fingerspells at them. _Stay safe._

“The entire Los Santos PD is scared shitless right now, we’ll be fine,” Michael laughs, his voice rough, pulling Ray up from the couch. They’re both a little singed, a little worse for wear--but they’re okay. The door creaks shut behind them, and that leaves Ryan and Geoff alone together. Geoff takes another drink from his bottle of whiskey, offers it to Ryan; Ryan shakes his head, smiling. They’re sitting close together, knees and knuckles and shoulders touching, and Ryan can smell the alcohol on Geoff’s breath and the smoke in his clothes. Geoff places his hand gently on Ryan’s knee, making his skin tingle and his cheeks burn like a kid with a crush. ( _Puppy love_ , he thinks.)

“Drunk,” Ryan says simply, and Geoff grins at him, nods, eyes dancing in the dim light. He puts one hand on the back of Ryan’s neck, runs the other up his thigh, kisses him tentatively. He tastes like whiskey and blood and ash, and _god_ Ryan wants more. He kisses Geoff back, heat surging through his cock, and digs his fingernails into Geoff’s skin. Geoff makes a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh, squeezes Ryan’s cock lightly through his jeans, and pulls away. He tugs Ryan to his feet, and Ryan follows his lead, head buzzing.

“Bedroom?”

Geoff nods, and Ryan takes him by the wrists and leads him down the hall, a feat made much more difficult by the fact that Geoff is currently trying to shove his tongue down Ryan’s throat. He manages to work the door open and pull Geoff inside, push him towards the little-used bed. Geoff grins up at him, and it sends a shiver down Ryan’s spine.

Ryan hooks his fingers into Geoff’s belt loops and pulls their hips together, humming in satisfaction when Geoff grinds against him with a soft whimper. “Shhhh.” His lips against Geoff’s neck, Geoff’s hands clawing desperately at his back. Geoff’s cock hard against his through layers of clothing. A tense heat pooling in his chest. He pushes Geoff back onto the bed and straddles his hips, sucking a mark into his neck until he lets out a soft whine and grinds up against Ryan, his meaning clear. _Ryan Jesus just stop fucking around and_ fuck me.

Ryan sits up and smiles down at Geoff, runs a hand through his hair. Geoff shuts his eyes, moves into Ryan's touch, runs a hand up his thigh.

Ryan swats it away. Geoff glares.

"Cat got your tongue?" Ryan asks in a sweet voice, grinning when Geoff’s glare just intensifies. He glides his fingers down Geoff's jaw, along his throat, rests the palm of his hand on Geoff's shoulder. Geoff tries to grab his hand, blue eyes dark and glinting, and Ryan pins both of his wrists above his head with a laugh. "None of that." He pulls his own belt off and ties it around Geoff’s wrists, working quickly, steadily, trying to ignore his own arousal. Geoff looks up at him, and Ryan can only imagine the curses running through his mind. He grins again and kisses Geoff softly, pulling back when Geoff tries to deepen the kiss.

Ryan starts unbuttoning Geoff's shirt, pressing kisses and touches to the inked skin he exposes and occasionally grinding their hips together. He leaves bright red trails on Geoff’s skin with his fingernails, like comet tails in the sky. There are bruises already forming across Geoff’s pale skin, from a couple of thugs who had gotten the slip on him earlier--and who Ryan had promptly taken care of. He takes care now to avoid the bruises, instead making some of his own. Geoff struggles briefly, but finally goes more or less limp beneath Ryan, making small, whining noises in his throat and bucking his hips desperately. Earlier, Ryan watched Geoff give Michael the order to detonate half of the Los Santos police department, watched him paint the city red with sin and power and wild rage, and now-- _Christ_ , and now he's lying desperate and squirming beneath Ryan's touches. The King of Los Santos, reduced to a whining, horny, _silent_ mess.

“I could leave you like this,” Ryan whispers as he pulls Geoff’s shirt all the way open and tugs at his belt buckle. “Tie you up and leave you here and you couldn’t even call for help.” His hands splay over Geoff’s hips, teasing at the skin above his waistband. Geoff makes a demanding noise and Ryan flashes his teeth and crawls up to kiss him. Geoff kisses him back, growls, words stuck in his throat, and thrashes slightly in Ryan’s grip, hips grinding against him. Ryan bites at Geoff’s lower lip until he tastes blood, tugs roughly at his hair with one hand and rubs his cock through his pants with the other. Geoff groans into his mouth, breaks the kiss, starts rutting wantonly against Ryan’s hand.

“Gonna come in your pants, Ramsey?” Ryan murmurs. He backs off so he’s straddling Geoff’s thighs, pinning him down with a hand to his shoulder. “Like a horny kid?” He presses their foreheads together, and Geoff narrows his eyes, blue nearly completely overtaken by his dilated pupils. He traces his thumb along Geoff’s bottom lip, wiping away a fleck of blood. “You be good.”

He starts sucking at the pulse point on Geoff’s throat, nipping at the tender skin with his teeth until Geoff whimpers and arches his back up into Ryan. Ryan smirks and pulls Geoff’s pants down over his hipbones, tosses them aside, takes his cock into his hand and starts stroking slowly and steadily. Geoff squeezes his eyes shut and whines softly and desperately, hips stuttering up into Ryan's hand. He strokes Geoff's cock lightly, runs his thumb over the slit, and Geoff groans, his fingers grasping at the empty air.

“Hmmm,” Ryan breathes, little more than a whisper. He lets go of Geoff’s cock and starts teasing at his entrance with his fingertips, grinning when Geoff bites his lip and tries not to moan. "You're pretty like this." And he is, he really fucking is, eyes wide and dark blue, skin flushed and tattoos bright and a trail of bruises along his neck and chest. Ryan slips his finger into Geoff’s hole, and then a second, and his own cock aches against his jeans, and Geoff positively _thrashes_ beneath him, trying to fuck himself on Ryan’s fingers.

Ryan takes it at his own pace, fucking Geoff languidly in time with his strokes and occasionally crooking his fingers, making Geoff whimper and writhe and clench around him. He slips in a third finger, stretches them out inside Geoff until he’s fucking himself down onto Ryan’s fingers in earnest, making small, strangled noises in the back of his throat. Geoff glances down at Ryan through his eyelashes, licks his lips, and Ryan smirks. He feels almost drunk, adrenaline and arousal pumping through his body in a thick, hot haze, and he just wants to cover Geoff’s body with bruises and leave him begging for more.

Ryan pulls his fingers out of Geoff, leaves him writhing on the bedspread, and reaches over to the bedside table to grab the bottle of lube. He fumbles with the button on his pants and Geoff laughs at him, and he feels himself blushing.

“Shut up,” Ryan mutters, grinning, pressing a kiss to Geoff’s temple as he undoes the belt around Geoff’s wrists. Geoff just laughs back and sits up, making quick work of Ryan’s pants and pushing him back down onto the bed. He straddles Ryan's legs and looks up at him as he swallows him in one swift motion. Ryan can feel Geoff's throat contracting around his length, and he fucking _winks_ up at Ryan, and Ryan just mumbles and grins helplessly and covers his eyes with the back of his hand, heat spreading from his groin throughout the rest of his body. Ryan can try to run the show as much as he wants, but at the end of the day, Geoff still reduces him to a quivering, blushing nervous wreck, and he loves it. "Show off."

Geoff pulls off of Ryan, lips popping obscenely, grin plastered across his face. He picks up the bottle of lube from where Ryan had dropped it, pumps some into his hand, and strokes Ryan's cock a few times. The rest of the lube on his fingers he uses to prepare himself.

Ryan digs his fingers into Geoff’s thighs as Geoff slowly lowers himself onto Ryan's cock, knees on either side of his hips and one hand holding Ryan's arm tight; it's all Ryan can do to keep from slamming into Geoff right there, he's so tight and warm and _perfect_. Geoff smiles, somewhat distractedly, down at Ryan as he leans forward until their foreheads are nearly touching. He fucks himself on Ryan's cock a few infuriatingly slow times, his thigh muscles flexing beneath Ryan's fingertips, and Ryan brings one hand up to cup Geoff's face. Everything is so much, every point of contact between their bodies burning and sparking, and Ryan doesn't know how long he'll last, not with Geoff looking down at him like that, not with the sharp arousal cutting at his mind like a knife. Then Geoff grins, and nods, breathless already, and Ryan slams his hips up, fucking Geoff fast and hard and greedily. His fingers dig into Geoff’s thigh in a way that he hopes will leave bruises tomorrow, and all the blood is rushing out of his head, and _god_ he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good in his life. He takes Geoff’s cock into his hand and starts stroking steadily. Geoff whines.

And then (Ryan thinks it’s far too soon, but then he lost track of time a while ago), Geoff is coming, wordlessly mouthing Ryan’s name into his throat as he spills over their stomachs. He alternates pressing bites and kisses to Ryan’s jaw and lips as he comes down, breathing haggardly and moaning in a way that makes Ryan have trouble thinking. Then he’s pulling off of him slowly, taking Ryan’s cock into his hand, his mouth, and _there_ \--

Ryan grips the sheets beneath him, and he says Geoff’s name until he can’t anymore, and his hips stutter upwards and he’s gone, the room whiting out for a split second, words caught in his throat like a river in a dam. Geoff holds onto him through it all, one hand on Ryan’s hip, the other clenched tight about his wrist. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, smirking not without affection, and crawls up Ryan’s body and kisses him, and Ryan can taste himself on Geoff’s tongue and it feels far less filthy than it should. Geoff uses his discarded shirt to wipe the come from their torsos and then buries his face against Ryan’s neck, already mostly asleep, but mouthing words into his skin.

Ryan presses his lips to Geoff’s forehead and traces circles along his back. The window is cracked open and the streetlight is filtering in, giving the room a dim orange glow and filling it with the sounds of the city outside. Geoff finds Ryan’s free hand and laces their fingers together, sighing as he nuzzles closer, and Ryan can see the shadowy outlines of the bruises he left on him, and the ones he didn’t. (It twists his gut to think about the broad, dark bruises across Geoff’s ribs and back, and the way he flinches ever so slightly when Ryan brushes his fingers across them, and he doesn’t know how to process it.) He lies awake until the red LED numbers on his alarm clock tick over to 12:00; he turns to Geoff and finds there’s nothing he wants to say. Nothing he can say.

So, instead, he just buries his face against Geoff’s hair and lets himself finally slip into sleep, thinking that one hundred and sixty-seven words is too much and not enough, and how can he tell Geoff how he feels when he doesn’t even _know_ how he feels, and things were so much easier, when they just fucked each other and got it over with, before their feelings got involved, and what if it’s just Ryan’s feelings that are involved, anyway, and how did they ever think this could work--

And in the morning, he wakes up to find Geoff gone, and feels an unfamiliar, aching pang in his chest, before he notices his room’s been cleaned up, he’s been somehow maneuvered into a pair of sweats in the night, and there’s a note scrawled in familiar handwriting on his nightstand -- “Went out to get breakfast. I’m coming back, stop freaking out. Love you.”

Ryan stares at it and reads it over and over again until his hands stop shaking.

They’ll make it work.

They always do.

 

 


End file.
